


Alone Together

by MissDavis



Series: Consolation Prizes [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Breakable universe, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Multi, Non-Canonical, One Night Stands, POV Mary Morstan, Sexual Content, Threesome, whoops John has both nipples pierced now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis
Summary: Sometimes you just have to try something new.She followed them into the bedroom, waiting for her common sense to kick in and make her stop. Maybe her common sense was distracted by the way John's bare arms looked as he pushed himself down the hallway, or the lure of Sherlock's cologne, which she'd never known him to wear before today. Clearly, they had planned this together ahead of time, and assumed she would say yes. And they'd been right, apparently. But then, she didn't have much to lose, did she? Her boyfriend and the father of her child had been dead for over a year, she hadn't been with anyone else in that time, and, in fact, her libido hadn't been particularly active until tonight, when she'd re-awoken it with the thrill of the Magnussen job well done. John and Sherlock, on the other hand.... "Are you two sure about this?" she asked. "I mean, I'm willing, but you two are married. Aren't you afraid you'll regret this in the morning?"Writtten for the best and most complex prompt I've ever gotten as part of 221B-Consolation Fest.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Mary Morstan/John Watson
Series: Consolation Prizes [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/995904
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60
Collections: 221B-Consolation Fest 2020





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quarto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarto/gifts).



> A couple of weeks ago I asked for prompts for "ficlets" for 221-B Consolation Fest. [Quarto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarto) sent me this: _In response to your request for prompts: I'd love to read a Johnlockary one-off threesome with the Sherlock, John, and Mary you created in the "Breakable", set after "Side Effects." I fully acknowledge that this'd be pretty OOC for these versions of Sherlock and John and you'd have to figure out a way to deal with Mary's pregnancy and relationship with another man, so it'd be a pain to write and do not feel obligated._
> 
> My reaction: Those three characters would never do that in this situation  
> Me, two seconds later: But if they did, here's how it would go
> 
> And that's how this went from being a ficlet for a weekend-long challenge to the longest single-chapter fic I've ever written.
> 
> This was by far the most specific and challenging prompt I've ever received, and also the only time I've ever gotten a prompt specifically asking for something in the Breakable universe, which I love. Plus it involves Johnlockary, which I also love, though I've always kept those two things separate. Until now. 
> 
> I decided to write the prompt, with the understanding in my own head (and for my readers, too) that it was non-canonical, i.e. this does not "really" happen in the Breakable universe. But if it did, here's one way it could go.
> 
> This could have easily been a multi-chapter fic, probably in the 35K+ word range, but I made the choice to quickly summarize all the events in the beginning of the fic and focus on the night the three characters get together. Hopefully it still seems somewhat believable, even if it never really happened. :) 
> 
> Some background, though I highly doubt anyone who hasn't read [Breakable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522717/chapters/5605520) and [Side Effects](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16530389/chapters/38722940) is going to read this (though I hope you do consider reading them if you haven't!):  
> Breakable: John and Sherlock have been together 5 years when John is injured and paralyzed from the waist down. By the end of the fic they get married and adopt a dog.  
> Side Effects: Because John and Sherlock got together romantically shortly after they met, most of the events after A Study in Pink never happened as they did on the show. Moriarty went to prison and stayed there, rather than the events of s2 happening. In Side Effects, he breaks out of prison and goes after John and Sherlock, unhappy that they are married. Mary shows up at Baker Street and admits she had been spying on John and Sherlock for Moriarty while he was in prison, but asks them for help fleeing now that Moriarty is loose, because she's pregnant and wants to keep the baby and her boyfriend safe. She leaves the flat with Sherlock's promise to help them escape and we don't hear anything else about her in that fic. 
> 
> I did not have a beta or Brit-picker or make any attempt to use British spellings, etc., mostly because I wanted to make this a quick project. If you see any typos, you can let me know.

This was certainly not what Mary had imagined would happen when she'd decided two weeks ago to come out of hiding and flee with Rosie to Baker Street. 

It had been a rough eighteen months. The last time she'd seen John and Sherlock, she'd been three months pregnant and full of hope that she was about to escape her old life and start a new one with her boyfriend, David. By the next morning, her sweet, innocent David was dead and she had resolved to kill Moriarty herself. John beat her to it, of course—well, the newspapers said it had been a suicide on the roof of Barts, but Mary knew how to read between the lines. 

With Moriarty out of the picture, she was finally safe, but alone. She'd stayed in England, lying low while she grieved and clawed her way through six more months of pregnancy. She supposed she could have gone back to work, but she didn't particularly want to have to see John again—if she'd gone to him and Sherlock just a day or two earlier, David might still be alive, and she didn't need that reminder. 

Once the baby was born, things got a little better—sure, she was exhausted and overwhelmed just like every new mum, but she had a purpose once more, and little time for self-pity. Her memory of David retreated a bit, became a bearable grief instead of an open hole in her heart, and by the time Rosie was pulling herself to her feet and trying to walk, Mary thought she might be able to hold on to this new life and make something of it. No more running and hiding, no more spying or killing, no more changing how she looked and who she was. Just her and her daughter, a family at last. 

Then Magnussen paid her a call, and everything she had was once more in danger. She didn't how he had found her, or why he wanted to threaten her now, but she suspected he simply liked to be able to control her through fear. And she was afraid, but this time she didn't wait. She took Rosie and ran, straight to the only place she thought she might be able to find someone who could help her. Baker Street.

And she was right—John and Sherlock let her in and put her and Rosie up in the spare bedroom they had above their flat, not because they felt they owed her anything, she knew, but because neither of them were the type to ever back down from a challenge. 

They were kinder and more welcoming than she'd expected. The first morning she was there, she'd woken to find them assembling a cot, having somehow obtained one overnight. This display of gentle domesticity lasted until after they'd all had breakfast, and then they began to plan. Magnussen. Mary was just hoping to be able to retrieve the files he had on her, so she would be able to lead her new life without the threat of the past hanging over her, but once Sherlock started investigating him, it became more and more clear that Magnussen was a threat to the whole country, not just Mary. 

"We need to destroy his entire archive," Sherlock said, a week into Mary's stay. He'd turned half of the living room into a shrine of sorts, decorated with news clippings and images of Magnussen. The other half of the room had been cordoned off to form a baby-proof play area for Rosie and Stone, Sherlock and John's dog, who had quickly become Rosie's favorite toy. 

Mary started to brainstorm ways to destroy Magnussen's hidden archive. His documents were most likely in some sort of fireproof storage, but anything would burn eventually, if the flames were hot enough. But before she could finalize a plan to set fire to his London offices and his country estate simultaneously, Sherlock had another realization.

"Mind Palace," he said, startling up from his supine position on the sofa just as John came off the lift and into the flat. 

"Yeah, I figured that's what you were doing," John said, tossing his work bag onto the coffee table and trying to keep both Rosie and Stone from climbing over the baby gate to greet him. "Have you been like that the whole day? Sorry, Mary."

Mary shrugged—it was just as easy to ignore Sherlock and get things done herself. She had Rosie to watch and she'd been pitching in with meals and cleaning, since they were letting her stay here and the place clearly needed a woman's touch. Or at least the touch of someone who didn't fancy living in squalor.

"No, no, no." Sherlock sat up and dropped his feet to the floor. "Not me. Magnussen. He must have one. Rather than physical archives. We know he doesn't trust any type of electronic storage, but the security of physical space can never be fully guaranteed, either. He has all his information stored in his mind, and only in his mind. No one else can touch it, ever." He popped up to his feet and began to pace.

"You really think so?" Mary asked.

"I'm positive," Sherlock replied, looking so pleased with himself that Mary suddenly understood why John told him he was brilliant and then pulled him down by his lapels for a kiss. 

"All right, so what does that mean? Mary doesn't get to burn down his house?" John asked, when he'd let go of Sherlock and wiped his mouth, apparently not at all self-conscious about snogging his husband in front of her. 

"She doesn't have to," Sherlock said, and met Mary's eyes.

She nodded without hesitation. "My specialty. Just get me his schedule and it's done."

"Hang on, wait. What's happening? What are you doing?" John asked, as Sherlock stepped over the coffee table and grabbed his laptop from the desk.

Mary grinned at him, finally daring to feel the same sense of relief she'd felt over a year ago, when she'd told John and Sherlock about working for Moriarty and asked for their help. "I'm going to take care of Magnussen, and then Rosie and I will be out of your hair. I think we're going to move someplace warm, with a beach and palm trees, and never think about England again." She picked up Rosie and planted a kiss on her cheek, and Rosie wrapped her short arms around her neck, babbling happily, as if she knew everything would soon be all right again.

Three days later and Mary was ready. She was lucky to be working with two men who, though they might oppose murder in principle, understood that sometimes it was necessary for the greater good. Neither one of them so much as blinked when she dug out her old assassin gear and gun—well, that wasn't exactly true, was it? When she came downstairs wearing all black with her gun belted at her side, Sherlock spent a good 30 seconds blinking at her; apparently seeing her dressed for the job was a little harder for him to process than he'd anticipated. John looked at him watching her and chuckled, then picked up Rosie and distracted her with a silly song so Mary wouldn't have to hold her while she was carrying her gun. 

When the job was finally done, she texted John and Sherlock to let them know she'd succeeded, then returned to the flat, buoyant despite the weight of her gear hidden safely beneath her coat. It was late; she hoped John and Sherlock had managed to put Rosie to bed while she was gone. She stepped into the flat to find them sitting together in their chairs by the fireplace, deep in conversation.

"Oh, sorry," she said, because she felt as if she was interrupting them. Maybe she should have gone right upstairs to her room, but she was still running on adrenaline and was itching for a chance to talk. Staying with them for the past two weeks had reminded her that she did actually enjoy the company of other adults on occasion, and not having to hide her past from them made their companionship even more appealing.

"It's all right." John leaned back in his armchair. "How did it go?"

"No problems at all," she replied. "Sherlock, the floor plan you gave me led me right into his office and he was right where you said he'd be."

"Of course he was." Sherlock snorted and stood up from his chair, striding past John into the kitchen without another word.

Mary slipped out of her coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa—they'd lit a fire and the flat was warm and she was wearing too many layers. "Did Rosie give you any trouble?"

"Nope, she was a doll," John said. "The only problem was Stone wanted to stay up in her room. Sherlock had to trick him into the lift while I read Rosie that book about the pig."

"Peppa?" She grinned at the image of John reading to Rosie.

"Yeah, that one. Then she drank the bottle you left for her and went right to sleep. We haven't heard a peep out of her since." He nodded at the baby monitor on the desk. 

Mary squinted at the image of the darkened room on the monitor screen, then glanced behind her, out the open door that led upstairs. Rosie would be okay by herself for a little while longer; Mary could stay down here for now. Unless Sherlock was grumpy that she'd interrupted his time alone with John—he was banging around in the kitchen now, so maybe he wanted her to leave. 

"John, give me a hand in here?" Sherlock called out, and Mary picked up her coat from the sofa.

"I'll see you in the morning," she said to John. "Before Rosie and I leave. One last breakfast together?"

"No, wait," John said. "Don't go. Don't—ah." He licked his lips and twisted in the armchair to shout at Sherlock. "I'll be right there, hang on a second." He reached out and pulled his wheelchair closer, then moved from the armchair into it. 

Mary had seen John do that dozens of times in the last week, but he'd always been wearing a jumper or cardigan and chinos, one of his usual outfits. Now, he had on a pair of loose sleep trousers and a plain white t-shirt, which was definitely not loose. As he lifted himself up and swung from one chair to the other, the shirt pulled tight across his chest and arms, highlighting the muscles she knew he had and the nipple rings that were a complete surprise. They had to be new—surely she would have noticed if he'd been pierced back when she was working with him. Wouldn't she have? She hadn't really looked at him too closely. She'd been with David then, and though she'd off-handedly noticed that John's upper body had gotten more muscular after he'd been hurt, she never really paid much attention. Now, it was hard for her to look away.

John settled himself in his wheelchair, adjusting his legs and feet on the footrests, and Mary made herself stop watching. She'd forgotten the little spike of lust that often came after she'd completed a job, a side effect of the adrenaline and overall sense of accomplishment that was coursing through her. But it wouldn't do for her to keep staring at John now. He was married and not interested anyway, and she didn't want to make things awkward between them.

John smiled at her as he rolled past her and into the kitchen, pulling the pocket door shut behind him. She'd never seen that door closed before—she really should go now. She twisted her coat in her hands and hesitated, trying to hear what John and Sherlock were saying to each other behind the closed door. Why had John told her not to go? 

A moment later and the door opened again and John came back out, Sherlock following behind him, carrying three glasses and a bottle of wine. 

Not just wine. "Champagne," Sherlock announced. "We only have the one bottle, I'm afraid."

"Guess we'll only be able to get a little tipsy," John said. He waved at the sofa Mary still stood in front of. "Come on, put your coat down and stay a while. It's real champagne. Sherlock never buys the cheap stuff."

Sherlock stepped past him, set the glasses down on the coffee table, and began to pour. 

After a moment, Mary put her coat down again and sat on the sofa. On her way home tonight, she'd disposed of the gun she'd used—she had no reason to keep it, now, and was uncomfortable having it around Rosie—but she was still wearing the black tactical vest and trousers, which didn't quite fit, even though she'd nearly returned to her pre-pregnancy weight. Nearly. When she leaned forward to reach for a glass of the champagne, the waistband dug uncomfortably into her stomach. She glanced at John and Sherlock and decided neither of them was likely to care—they were both dressed for bed, though that wasn't unusual for Sherlock. "Excuse me, I need to—" She unhooked her belt and released the button on the trousers, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Sorry. I haven't worn these in a while, and they're a bit tight."

Sherlock waved a hand. "It's fine. You could undo your vest, as well, if you'd like. Those straps can't be comfortable across your chest, and John would appreciate the view."

Mary's hand went to her chest and she turned to stare at John before she could stop herself. He was holding one of the glasses of champagne and smiling serenely at her. She expected him to protest Sherlock's statement, but instead he lifted his glass towards her and took a small, delicate sip. In all the time she'd known him, over half a decade of working with him, he had never looked at her like that, not even when she'd been actively flirting with him, before she realized how committed to Sherlock he was. 

She looked back at Sherlock, confused. She'd always thought he was the jealous sort—he'd certainly come off as territorial in the past, swooping around John at any work-related social gatherings they'd been to. Not to mention how last year, right here in this very room, he'd accused her and John of having an affair. 

Now Sherlock shrugged at her. "I'm not going to stop him from looking. You're very...lookable, and the outfit certainly flatters you. Especially if you like...." He waved one hand in something that Mary thought was an approximation of a female shape, but then finished his sentence with a different word. "Danger." He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the top of his glass, and she felt like she was being appraised. 

John laughed. "I'm sorry, Mary. He's not trying to make you uncomfortable. He's just not very good with compliments in general." 

"It's all right." She set her glass down on the table and leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, then reached up to undo the buckles of her vest. She was wearing a turtleneck—it wasn't as if her breasts were going to fall out of it. 

Sherlock was still standing on the opposite side of the coffee table from where she sat, and still looking at her, which was making her uncomfortable, because being examined by Sherlock was always somewhat uncomfortable, but Mary wasn't about to let him know that. He stared for a long moment and then put his glass down on the table and clasped his hands behind his back, his dressing gown falling open. "I don't mind if John looks at you, because I know he's crazy about me."

She stared back at him. "Well, he should be crazy about you. You're a good-looking man." It was true, although she was also trying to make him uncomfortable, as well. She'd never really thought he was her type, but having spent the last two weeks working with him, she'd started to see some of what John saw in him, physically. 

"I'm glad you think so," Sherlock said.

Next to him, John sighed and shook his head, a grin playing at his lips. Mary squinted at him and wondered why they were both being so strange.

Sherlock cleared his throat, then stepped to the side. "John. You—" He fluttered one hand in Mary's direction.

John took another swallow of his champagne and then set the glass down, still half-full. "So. Mary," he said, and swallowed audibly. "While you were gone, Sherlock and I were discussing—"

"Actually, we started talking about it on Wednesday, but didn't consider it seriously until Friday, after we all agreed that the best plan would be for you to take out Magnussen directly."

Mary frowned at him. Were they about to offer her some sort of job or partnership? Did they have other people they wanted assassinated, but didn't want to take the risk themselves? Did Sherlock want to off his brother? They had been fighting a lot over the two weeks she'd been staying here. Well, she may have just shot Magnussen point blank in the temple, but she was now officially retired. Again. She wasn't going to kill anyone else, even if John and Sherlock had been kind of fun to work with. 

"Anyway," John continued. "We, erm, don't usually do things like this. I mean, we never have before—"

"I have," Sherlock said. 

"You have?" John squinted up at him.

"Once. That I remember. I was high, details are fuzzy."

"Ah, that explains it." John was still smiling, seemingly not at all concerned about Sherlock admitting he had been high when he'd...done whatever it was they were talking about. What were they talking about? She glanced at her champagne glass to confirm that she'd only had a few sips—they just weren't making any sense.

John must have noticed, but misinterpreted the expression on her face. "Don't worry," he said. "He's clean now. Has been almost the whole time I've known him. Right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded. "Just that one slip-up after you got hurt, and that was just me and some cocaine, no needles or anyone else involved. I'm clean, and we have condoms and spermicide. Went out this afternoon and bought them myself. Clerk at the shop knew who I was and did give me a strange look, much like the one you're giving me now, Mary. You're a bright woman, all things considered. Surely you understand what we're suggesting?" 

"I—yes. No." Mary's whole body was suddenly far too warm. "I mean, it sounds like you're suggesting...." She looked back and forth between the two of them, reluctant to state the obvious. 

"That's exactly what we're suggesting." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Will you join us?"

She followed them into the bedroom, waiting for her common sense to kick in and make her stop. Maybe her common sense was distracted by the way John's bare arms looked as he pushed himself down the hallway, or the lure of Sherlock's cologne, which she'd never known him to wear before today. Clearly, they had planned this together ahead of time, and assumed she would say yes. And they'd been right, apparently. But then, she didn't have much to lose, did she? Her boyfriend and the father of her child had been dead for over a year, she hadn't been with anyone else in that time, and, in fact, her libido hadn't been particularly active until tonight, when she'd re-awoken it with the thrill of the Magnussen job well done. John and Sherlock, on the other hand.... "Are you two sure about this?" she asked. "I mean, I'm willing, but you two are married. Aren't you afraid you'll regret this in the morning?"

They looked at each other, the look that she knew by now meant that the two of them were on exactly the same wavelength. "I don't see why we'd regret it," John said. "We're not cheating on each other. We're both here and willing participants. And you're leaving tomorrow, so you won't be coming between us in our marriage after this."

"But I think she might come between us in our bed tonight," Sherlock said, winking at her. Before she could respond—was he funny, or tasteless?—Sherlock kicked off the slippers he'd been wearing, sending them sliding under the bed, and shed his dressing gown. 

Mary was still standing just inside the bedroom door, unsure of how to proceed. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her, then pulled the faded gray t-shirt he was wearing over his head and tossed it towards a basket in the corner of the room. 

Oh, God. Mary didn't normally go for tall, thin men, or those who could be called pretty. She preferred a more sturdy and masculine body type, like David—or John, for that matter—but Sherlock with his shirt off was undeniably gorgeous. Long and lithe and more muscled than she would have suspected. She stared for a long moment, then John caught her eye and grinned at her. "Good, isn't he?"

She blinked and tore her gaze away. "Sorry, I—"

"Nope. You can look all you want. No judgement right now. We're just here to enjoy ourselves, all right?" He held her eye until she nodded, then asked, "And you're sure that you want to do this? Because you can say no, and we'll forget we ever mentioned it."

She believed him, but.... She threw another quick glance at Sherlock, standing shirtless, and John, sitting in front of her, still wearing that tight white t-shirt that showed off his nipple rings. "I want to," she said. 

"All right, then." John chuckled and moved to pull his own shirt off as Sherlock bounded across the bed on his knees to settle on his side on the far side of the mattress. 

She tore her eyes away from the sight of John's chest—the piercings must have hurt, but she could imagine the benefit of them, as well—and started to undress herself, more slowly than either of the others had. They were both certainly a lot more fit than she was, and despite John's "no judgement" statement, she still felt self-conscious. She took off the tactical vest first, and then her boots and socks, piling them neatly in the corner of the room. She kept her back to the bed as she took off her turtleneck and trousers and added them to the pile on the floor, then turned around, wishing her bra and knickers were a coordinated set. How was she to know that she'd be doing this when she'd put them on this morning?

John had moved from his chair onto the bed and was sitting on top of the duvet in only his pants, leaning back on the pillows propped against the headboard. Sherlock was next to him, still on his side. As Mary watched, the two of them stretched together for a kiss, deep and languid. When the kiss ended, Sherlock ran his right hand down his own body until he reached the obvious bulge in his sleep trousers. He palmed himself as he met Mary's eyes—a demonstration for her, and an invitation to put her own self-doubt aside.

John and Sherlock were both watching her, now, so to distract herself she asked, "What are we...actually doing? I mean, how?" She'd never really thought about what John might be able to do in bed since he'd been injured—well, it might have briefly crossed her mind around the time he and Sherlock got married, but she'd tried not to let herself think about it too much, because it was none of her business. Now it seemed to be her business, though, at least for tonight. He obviously wouldn't be able to hold himself up over either of them, but she could still think of several possible combinations, depending on what they wanted to do.

Sherlock sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, and wrinkled his brow as if deep in thought before proclaiming, "To start off, you will sit on John."

"Will she?" John asked, and didn't try to hide his smile. "Are you in charge now?"

"The two of you both have bits that the other one likes. I'm just suggesting the obvious." 

John stared at him a moment longer, then looked at Mary and shrugged. "He's right, if you're willing."

"I'm—yeah." She was standing naked in their bedroom, so she was pretty sure she was willing to do just about anything they wanted her to. 

John nodded and began to work his pants off. "And what will you be doing while she and I are—?"

"Watching, at first, and then...." Sherlock flicked his eyes briefly to Mary and then back to John. 

"Ah, right," John said. He tossed his pants to the floor, adjusted the way his legs lay on top of the duvet, and took his cock in hand. "If she's okay with that."

"Sorry, what?" Mary asked. She would absolutely have sex with both of them, though she wasn't sure if that was what Sherlock wanted. 

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock, erm. We usually.... Well, since I got hurt, you see, we haven't been able to...switch anymore. Which we're both mostly okay with, but, before, Sherlock did like to, er, top, occasionally. Just for some variety. In the past. So, if you don't mind, he could, erm, get behind you while you and I...."

Mary bit back a chuckle of laughter. John was perfectly comfortable sitting there stroking his half-hard cock in front of her, but God forbid he have to say what they liked to do out loud. She held up a hand to put an end to his stumbling around the topic. "Yes, I've got it. We could do that. Sure."

John nodded rapidly. "Don't worry, he'll be gentle."

"Will I?" Sherlock said, and without turning to look at him, John whacked him in the thigh with a lightly curled fist. "I will," Sherlock amended. "But not because you told me to."

Mary shook her head at their exchange. "Not yet, though," she said. "First I just want—"

"Yes, I said I would watch first," Sherlock said, and Mary knew he could somehow tell exactly what her preferences were for being touched where and when, which was disturbing but also extremely erotic. She took a deep breath and then reached back to unclasp her bra and let it fall to the floor, then pushed down her pants and stepped out of them. She stood still for a moment, letting herself get used to the feeling of being looked at—it had been so long since she'd been undressed in front of another adult.

Sherlock nodded at her, then waved a hand towards John. "All right, go ahead. He's ready for you now."

"Stop," John said, and took his hand from his cock, which was indeed hard now. "First of all, you are not directing this production, Sherlock, and second, I am not ready for her. Get me a condom."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed for a moment, but he did as John asked, rolling off the bed and crossing the room to pick up a carrier bag that sat atop the chest of drawers. 

He emptied the bag, placing a box of condoms and small bottle of lubricant on the nightstand next to John, then opened the drawer below it and reached into the back. "Here," he said, and dropped something small onto the bed. A silicone ring, thick enough on one side that Mary knew it must house a small battery inside. 

John pursed his lips for a moment, and Mary thought he was going to again object to Sherlock making the decisions, but instead he lifted his chin. "No, but leave it out." She watched his fingers move up and down his cock and wondered if the ring would even fit around it. She'd never found the mere sight of a penis to be particularly erotic, but watching him stroke himself, coupled with the idea that he might wear that ring and turn on the tiny vibrator while he was inside her.... She stepped closer to the bed and pressed one hand against herself, enjoying the heat that was starting to rise through her body.

John took a condom from the box and set it on the pillow next to him, and Mary perched on the edge of the bed, one leg folded beneath her, sitting on her foot. She squirmed against her heel, setting off another small flare of pleasure. 

Next to her, Sherlock exhaled loudly and dropped to sit in John's wheelchair, legs spread out towards the bed. He was still wearing his sleep trousers, but was pantsless beneath them; Mary could see the clear outline of his cock, forming a tent beneath the thin fabric.

"Come here, Mary," John said, and held out a hand. She slid along the mattress until she could reach him. The skin on his hand was rough, but he was gentle as he ran his fingers up along her arm, pausing when he reached her shoulder.

"Oh, just touch her breasts already," Sherlock said. "You've been dying to do it and she clearly won't mind."

Mary glanced back at him and then turned towards John again. "Is he always like this?"

"I mean, it's usually just the two of us, but yes."

"Fine, I'll stop talking," Sherlock said.

"No, you won't."

"I will try to talk less," he amended. 

"All right. You said you wanted to watch, so watch."

"I do want to watch." Sherlock got up from the chair and stood next to the bed, just behind Mary. She felt his hand on her shoulder, gentle, almost hesitant, as he pushed her forward without any real force. "Go on. I want to see."

She got to her knees and crossed the few inches of mattress that separated her from John, swinging her leg over him so she knelt over his thighs, straddling him but keeping her weight off his legs.

"It's all right," he said, putting his hands lightly on her hips and guiding her down to sitting. "I've had much heavier things on my lap." He flicked his eyes towards Sherlock, then smiled at her. "I do kind of hate it when he's right, though," he said, and slid his hands up her body, coming to rest with his fingers just grazing the bottoms of her breasts.

"No, he doesn't," Sherlock said, and sat down on the bottom of the bed, behind Mary and next to John's feet. "Sorry. I'm quiet now."

"Mm, just ignore him." John's hands moved up her chest, and Mary was pleased to feel tingles of pleasure radiate out from where he touched; she'd feared that nursing Rosie might have numbed her sensation permanently. He made a few passes over her breasts with both hands, teasing, then dropped his left hand down between them, taking a hold of himself once more. His right hand crept down her belly, and he made eye contact with her, asking permission.

She nodded and shifted her position on his legs as he moved his hand lower, awakening feelings she'd nearly forgotten. Her own fingers alone in her bed after Rosie was asleep, while adequate, didn't incite the same level of gratification that another person's touch did. And John knew how to touch her—he circled his forefinger over her clit and she rocked against him, watching as his other hand steadily worked his cock. Just when she was starting to need more, he reached for the condom that sat on the pillow next to him. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah." She straightened up, lifting herself off his legs a bit, and put her own hand down to feel how slick she was. She was tempted to tell him he could skip the lubricant, but Sherlock had said it was spermicidal, and she really wasn't interested in flirting with that sort of danger again. 

John took the condom from the packet and rolled it on, covering it with plenty of lube. "Come here," he said, and she walked forward on her knees until she was hovering just over his cock. He held himself still with one hand and put the other on her hip, and she let herself be guided onto him—slowly, until she was sure there would be no pain. 

Once she was fully seated on him, her muscle memory told her that he was about to start moving beneath her, but that wasn't going to happen, so she moved for them both, and he reached for her breasts with both hands once again. Sherlock was right—he did like them, and that was more than fine with her. She reached out towards his chest in return, tracing her fingers over the muscles before daring to tug at the thick metal rings that bisected his nipples. 

"Mm, harder," he said. "Like this." He brought his hands to his own chest and gave each ring a sharp pull, his eyes closing and mouth falling slightly open at the motion.

Mary didn't know if she could be that rough—she was afraid the rings would tear right through his skin, but then Sherlock shifted on the mattress behind her. 

"Use your mouth," he said.

John's eyes flicked over to Sherlock and then back to Mary, inviting. "Just this one." He touched the ring on his left side. "The other one is too new. It still gets irritated." 

She leaned forward, bringing her mouth to his skin, which was warm and smooth, tasting faintly of soap. He reacted instantly, a sharp intake of breath, and then his hands were on her again, circling and lightly pinching her nipples. She copied the motion with her tongue, sucked the ring into her mouth and pulled, the metal ball that closed the loop clicking at her teeth. John moaned and she did it again, the sounds he was making echoing her own pleasure. 

When his responses to her tongue started to taper off, she let the ring slip out of her mouth and straightened up. Unlike some of the straight men she'd dated in the past, John seemed to know the center of her enjoyment was not his cock inside of her, though that was good, but his fingers on her clit, stroking and pressing as she ground down against him. She moved her hips faster atop him, riding him in rhythm with the pace he set with his hand. 

"You can use your mouth, too," she said, and threw her shoulders back, offering her chest to him once more. 

He huffed out a breath of appreciation and pressed his face between her breasts, which felt like a compliment—she'd never had the type of chest men wanted to mash their faces into. But she was larger now, partly because she was still nursing Rosie twice a day but also because some of the weight she'd gained had settled there, probably for good. John certainly seemed to appreciate it. He licked a stripe over to her right nipple, pulling it into his mouth, rough for a moment but immediately backing off when she couldn't hide her flinch. "Sorry," he mumbled, and swirled his tongue around her nipple. Having her body and breasts in particular being treated once more as sexual organs instead of simply a means of food production as they had been for the past year was exhilarating. Except after a few exquisite moments in John's mouth, she suddenly felt her breasts fill with milk, as they did when it was time to feed Rosie. She pulled away from him as soon as she realized it, but it was too late; a thin stream of milk squirted him in the face. 

She put her hand over the offending milk duct, trying to will it to stop. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," John said, wiping at his face. "I didn't mind the taste. Wasn't sure if I should say anything though."

"Oh, God, was it a lot? I thought it just started."

"No, really, it's fine." 

"It's more than fine," Sherlock said, and his hand darted forward between them to grab John's arm and hold it still so he could lick the milk droplets from his fingers. "Interesting," was his verdict. 

John pulled his arm away from Sherlock and flicked his hand away, turning back to Mary. "If it bothers you, I won't do that again."

"It didn't bother her," Sherlock said. "Sorry, sorry." He held up a hand and retreated to his spot behind Mary again when John shot him a glare.

"No, he's right," Mary said. "I did like it. If you want to keep—"

John's mouth was on her left breast before she finished the sentence, and she hissed her appreciation and put her face down against his hair, which was the closest they'd come to kissing tonight.

The realization brought her up short. What they were doing together was unlike any sex she'd had before, and not just because there were three people here and one of them couldn't move anything from his waist down. She and John hadn't even kissed—it somehow seemed too intimate of a gesture to consider. They were fucking each other, but it wasn't a sign of love or connection. What was it? John couldn't even feel it anyway, could he? She paused in her movements on top of him, caught up in the thought for a moment. 

Behind her, Sherlock slid closer. "His brain might not be receiving the signal that it's happening, but his cock is definitely responding to what you're doing, so keep fucking him." His voice next to her ear was dark and deep and a level above a whisper, and she knew that John could hear him, too, though he betrayed no reaction to Sherlock's words. 

Mary swallowed and started moving again, grinding down on John, wondering how she would know if she was being too rough. And how Sherlock had known what she was thinking right at that moment. It was more than a bit eerie, she thought, and the entire situation served to cement her decision that after tonight she should take Rosie and leave this flat and England itself and never come back again. But for now, she was going to enjoy herself. She pushed away rational thought as John's mouth, fingers and cock brought her closer and closer to completion.

Maybe Sherlock could tell how close she was, too, because he began to move on the bed behind her. She heard him tear open a condom and a moment later a click as he opened the bottle of lubricant. She tensed at the sounds, and John's hands rose to her shoulders, stroking at the muscles there. "He doesn't have to do it," he said.

"It's okay," she said, and felt one of Sherlock's hands on her back, also caressing, as if to help her relax. 

"I'll go slow." His voice rumbled in her ear, sparking a deeper desire through her body. She felt his hand slip down her back, while in front of her John renewed his rhythm of fingers against clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure. The lube on Sherlock's fingers was cool, the sensation not unpleasant, as he pressed gently into her from behind, slowly and carefully enough that she felt no pain, just an intensifying of the heat already coursing through her. 

There was a brief flash of discomfort as his cock entered her, but he paused immediately and let her adjust. Once he was all the way in, she began to move again, rocking carefully on John's cock, and Sherlock followed her movements. 

"John," he gasped from behind her. "I can feel you. I can feel you inside her."

John lifted his head from her chest enough to ask, breathlessly, "What's it feel like?" 

Sherlock's reply was nothing but a moan, sighed into Mary's hair as he curved his whole body along her back. Mary was trapped between them, but she didn't care at all. Let them fuck her to death if that's what they wanted to do, as along as she got to come first. 

The mere thought of danger only made her more eager. She grunted and put her hand down, stilling John's fingers against her so she could rut against them. John and Sherlock each had a hand on her waist, and she was nearly out of control as she thrust between them, gasping with each surge that brought her closer to the edge. 

John leaned away from her for a moment. When he brought his hand back to her he was holding something—oh. He hit the button and pressed the cock ring against her as it began to vibrate, sending irresistible waves of warmth through her. 

She stopped moving everything but her fingers, circling them frantically over her clit while John held the ring in place just below it. "That's it, Mary," he said. "Come on, now. I want to see your face."

She looked at him, then closed her eyes, self-conscious but too far gone to care. She pressed her lips together and didn't let herself say his name—this wasn't a love affair of any sort and she had no illusions that it was. It was just a chemical reaction designed to further the species that they had co-opted in the pursuit of a few brief moments of pleasure. She twisted her own fingers against her clit, felt the buzz of the vibrating ring spiral through her body and let herself go, her climax crashing in waves as she clenched front and back around both of their cocks.

She fell forward, Sherlock slipping out from behind her. John caught her against his chest, and after a short struggle to get her breath back she lifted herself from his lap and rolled out of the way, just a split second before Sherlock charged up the mattress, throwing himself on top of John. 

She scooted back to the corner of the bed, where Sherlock had sat earlier. She meant to grab her clothes and get dressed, but found herself watching instead. 

Sherlock shoved one of the pillows up behind John and trapped him against the headboard and they kissed and kissed and kissed, hands raking through hair and down backs and chests, twisting at nipples and pulling at rings. They grew louder, either completely unselfconscious or possibly forgetting that she was even there. The way they said each other's names: that alone was enough to make Mary wonder if she should get up and slip out of the room, but she stayed, transfixed by the spectacle in front of her.

They had both completely changed their demeanor—whereas they'd been polite and even timid with her, they were rough and uninhibited with one another. Had they thought her too delicate? She didn't think so, but watching the way they touched and grabbed and made full-body contact with one another, tasting and kissing and teasing every bit of each other's bodies, made her realize how limited they had been with her. She understood why, but was also...not jealous, exactly, because she didn't want to have a relationship with either of them. Lonely? Alone, and wishing there were someone with whom she could still share such a bond. 

John pushed Sherlock up to sitting and took both their cocks in his hands, pulling off the condoms and tossing them to the floor on the far side of the bed. Sherlock's hands slid up John's chest, nails leaving marks that made John gasp. Mary's whole body twinged at the sound. She'd never been particularly interested in watching others, at least not the type of porn videos she knew other people enjoyed, but being here with them, fresh off her own orgasm, hearing and smelling and feeling the bed shake beneath her as they got each other off was an entirely different experience. She wanted to squeeze back in between them and feel their skin on hers once more, but she knew she would no longer be welcome, so she kept out of the way, watching and storing up the memories for the next time she was alone in an anonymous flat somewhere with only a sleeping infant for company. 

John picked up the pace of his hands on their cocks and Sherlock's vocalizations became louder and less coherent. They moved in tandem, each responding to the other's cues, with the ease of two people who knew each other's every desire. Mary thought she'd had a good sex life before, but she knew she'd never been that in tune with anyone, not in bed nor in any other part of her life. 

"John," Sherlock panted, and stretched across the bed, grabbing the cock ring John had used on her. Mary imagined she could feel it again as he turned it on and pressed it first to John's chest, circling each nipple and then drawing it down his torso. John moved his hands out of the way and his grunts began to rival Sherlock's volume when Sherlock lowered the buzzing ring to their cocks. 

"John," Sherlock said again, more desperate this time. "I can't—"

"Do it." John put his left hand between them again and Sherlock moaned, a long, drawn-out syllable that might have been John's name. The line of his back tensed, and he dropped the still buzzing ring. John's arm stilled between them and Sherlock leaned towards him, blocking Mary's view as he shuddered through his climax. 

Sherlock stayed in John's arms for a few moments, breathing heavily, then eased himself back, reaching for the vibrating ring that had fallen to the side. 

"Please," John said, and sat up straight against the pillow behind him, hands resting in loosely curled fists to either side. "Please," he said again, and let his head fall back against the headboard, eyes closed.

Sherlock put the ring in between them again. Mary couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but she was afraid she would disturb them if she tried to move from where she sat. She could hear the low buzz of the cock ring, though, and John's ongoing pleas to Sherlock.

"Yes. Yes, there. Keep it there." Mary didn't think the ring was touching his cock, but whatever Sherlock was doing with it, John must have been able to feel something. "Oh, God, yes. Sherlock. Sherlock, please," he said, and made a motion with one of his hands. Sherlock leaned forward again, clamping their mouths together and swallowing John's pleas.

Moments later John broke from the kiss, moaning as he came, covering Sherlock's hand and coating his own chest. He collapsed against the headboard again and Sherlock sat back on his heels, grinning. He clicked off the vibrating ring and tossed it onto the nightstand. 

Mary slipped off the bed, not turning to look at the damp spot she knew she'd left on their duvet. She had no desire to put all of her clothes on again, but she pulled on her bra and underpants, keeping her back to the bed as she did so. 

Behind her, Sherlock and John were quiet. She heard the rustle of fabric, but nothing else. What did they think about what they had all just done together? Were they thinking about it at all, or just savoring the afterglow? She picked up her trousers and turtleneck but didn't put them on, just turned around to face the bed. Neither of them had started to dress, but Sherlock had retrieved a blanket from the armchair in the corner of the room and they were sitting beneath it, covered to their waists. 

Mary wadded the clothes she was holding into a ball and hugged them against her stomach. She looked at John and Sherlock and they looked back at her and she asked, "Why?"

John didn't say anything, and Sherlock just quirked an eyebrow at her, though she was positive that they knew what she was asking. "Why did you want to do this? With me?"

They glanced at each other for a long moment before John answered. "I think we were both just...curious. And we've always been adventurous, and like to try new things, and so...." He trailed off, meeting her eyes and giving her a smile that almost made her not mind that he thought of her simply as something new to try once and then put aside. 

"It was my idea," Sherlock said. "And John always goes along with my ideas, no matter how terrible they may be."

Now it was Mary's turn to raise her eyebrows. "When I worked with John, I heard enough stories from him to know that this was not one of your more terrible ones." 

"Well, it wasn't my best idea ever, either, but then, it's not your fault you don't have all the right bits." He grinned at her, and slipped out from under the blanket to pad across the room and fetch his and John's clothes from the floor. 

"I'm sorry, Mary," John said, though he looked quite pleased with himself and not at all sorry. "He's always like this."

"Yeah, I know." She tried to smile back at both of them. "You can keep him." 

Sherlock tossed a pile of clothes in John's direction; most of them landed on the bed. "If you ever come back to visit, we could try it again. I've got some other ideas about positions and—"

"I'm never coming back to London."

"You've said that before, " John said.

"I'm not, though. I'm not. But thank you both, for tonight. I had a good time," she said, and turned and left the bedroom, knowing that she had almost told them the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best! I hope some of you like it. And now I'll be going back to working on my Johnlock parentlock fic with pregnant Eurus, [Hold You Like a Weapon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252971/chapters/55681264), unless I'm distracted by something else first. Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you like Breakable but don't like this, don't worry, just remember that this never really happened! :)


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